


Heroes

by evilmaniclaugh



Category: War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5961016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers up to episode three. Fedya Dolokhov may not seem the obvious hero type, but to Nikolai he is everything a man should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heroes

Before joining the army, Nikolai had heard endless stories documenting the outrageous adventures of Fyodor Dolokhov. Rather than reacting with hilarity, the way his father and sister always did, he invariably found them unpleasant, but now, having faced the realities of war, he’d returned from the front with a much greater understanding of Dolokhov’s need to let off steam.

It couldn’t be denied that the man was a brute, however there was something about the unadulterated hunger in his eyes that fascinated Nikolai. Dolokhov had taken his demotion in stalwart fashion and fought his way valiantly out of the ranks, returning to Moscow in triumph. This was a direct and rather unhappy contrast to Nikolai himself who had fallen at the feet of another soldier in the field and begged for help. Fyodor Dolokhov was brave. He was a hero. He was the kind of man Nikolai wanted to be.

It was when he was attending the gentlemen’s dinner for the returning soldiers that Nikolai had his first ever opportunity to study Dolokhov in detail. He found the man unquestioningly attractive, his vigorous ways much to be admired, if one ignored the ugly rumours that were circulating concerning a sordid affair with the Countess Bezukhova.

Despite much taunting by Dolokhov, Pierre Bezukhov’s challenge of a duel still came as a shock to all those present. It was also a surprise when Nikolai stood up and offered to be Dolokhov’s second -- a surprise to himself as well as the other guests at the dinner table. 

Afterwards, his sister treated him as if he were a traitor, but Nikolai was certain that he had detected a hint of loneliness in Dolokhov’s face and wanted a chance to befriend the eccentric soldier. 

“Why will you not stand by Pierre?” demanded Natasha, stamping her foot petulantly. “We’ve known him since we were children.”

Nikolai shrugged. “I like Dolokhov. Everyone likes Dolokhov.”

“Well, I don’t,” said Natasha. “I don’t trust him.”

“The General disagrees with you enough to reinstate him as captain,” said Nikolai.

“So?” Natasha pulled a face at him. “Like him if you must, but if he kills Pierre I’ll never speak to either of you again.” 

*

It was freezing out in the countryside, but Nikolai hardly noticed the icy temperatures of the snow fields as he was currently distracted by the predatory form of Dolokhov. On the prowl, the soldier had been stalking Pierre the moment his opponent alighted from the troika, watching his every move, those curious eyes fixed on his prey.

Pierre, in contrast, was a nervous wreck, hands trembling, body shifting from foot to foot as Denisov handed him his pistol. Nikolai wasn’t close enough to hear the exchange between the two men, but he could see from Denisov’s gesture of astonishment that all was not well.

Once swords were placed as markers and the rules of the contest were explained to both competitors, the countdown began and Dolokhov strode forward, his movements measured, a menacing expression on his face. It was clear that this was far from his first duel.

Unused to such matters, Pierre’s confidence exhausted him and he fired his pistol early. At first Nikolai was certain that he had missed his target, but as the trail of blood blossomed and became obvious to all, Dolokhov’s body failed him and he collapsed to the icy ground.

“Fedya!” cried Nikolai.

“Get back!” barked Dolokhov. As severely wounded as he was, he still managed to raise his pistol in an attempt to aim, but his arm lacked strength and the shot winged off to the right. “Missed,” he said as he sank face down into the snow which was slowly turning red around him.

Heart racing, Nikolai fell to his knees next to Dolokhov whilst Pierre tottered away, mumbling nonsense to himself.

As he helped Dolokhov to his feet, Nikolai was terrified to see the waxy pallor of his skin. Reassuring the man as he settled him into the troika, Nikolai was brought close to tears when this so called scoundrel begged him not to let his mother and sister see him die in this way.

“My angels,” he gasped. “I must live for their sakes.”

“I promise I’ll do my best to help you,” said Nikolai and pulling Dolokhov to him, he wrapped an arm around that shivering body and felt sad and sick, yet strangely empowered as Dolokhov’s dark head lolled against him.

Brought up to be a compassionate man, Nikolai was struck by this heartfelt entreaty and unable to deny a dying man’s wishes had the driver take them to hospital rather than Dolokhov’s own home. His kindness overflowing in far greater quantities than his purse, Nikolai spent the last of his roubles on Dolokhov’s medical expenses and was happy to do so, especially as he watched his new friend growing stronger day by day.

“How can I ever thank you, Kolya?” said Dolokhov as Nikolai came to collect him.

“Train me,” said Nikolai, helping him to the troika. “I would give anything to be as good a soldier as you are.”

“Do not aim to be like me.” Dolokhov grimaced as he fought the limitations of his body in order to pull himself into the waiting sleigh. “I am just a fighter.”

“You are so much more than that,” insisted Nikolai in an impassioned voice.

Fedya smiled at him, weary and lacking his usual amount of animal charm. “Maybe so, Kolya, but not in the way that you mean.”

Having been born into relative luxury, Nikolai was unprepared for the meagre living conditions of the Dolokhov family. The building had plasterwork falling from the ceiling and smelt strongly of rodents.

“Thank you again,” said Dolokhov gruffly as they arrived at the apartment door. “I’d invite you in only my mother would feel ashamed at having nothing to offer you.”

He was too late, however, as Madame Dolokhova had heard her son’s voice and rushed immediately to the door to see how he was faring. “My Fedya,” she said, tears in her eyes as she gripped his arm.

“Mama, I’m fine,” Dolokhov reassured her. “The doctors did a good job of sewing me up, thanks to Kolya here.”

“You must come in, sir,” the woman said looking up at Nikolai. “We have tea in the pot.”

“I’ll see Fedya inside, but I cannot stop for refreshment,” replied Nikolai. “My mother is expecting me.”

The appreciative look from Dolokhov warmed his heart, but then ice descended upon the room at the sound of a less welcoming voice.

“We can manage,” said a dark haired girl, owner of an elfin face and scowling grey eyes. “We do not need your charity, Count Rostov.”

“Lidiya, enough,” snapped Dolokhov. “He can see the apartment. Why should we be ashamed of what we have?”

“We _have_ nothing,” said Lidiya, wrapping a woolen shawl around her to disguise the slight hump to her spine and then marching down the stairs. “And you do not help with your tomfoolery,” she shouted from the hallway.

The rooms were sparsely furnished and freezing cold. There was a pot of tea on range, but the fire beneath it was dying and the log basket empty. Dolokhov’s bed was nothing more than a thin mattress in the corner and Nikolai imagined the horror of waking up to the scrabbling sound of rats.

Helping his friend to a chair, Nikolai patted him on the shoulder. Something had to be done about this. No one could successfully recuperate here.

“My father left us nothing but debts when he died. My mother is sick and so my sister is forced to stay at home to look after her,” said Dolokhov, by way of explanation. “The army do not pay particularly well, especially in the ranks. Things will soon improve now that I’m an officer again.”

“I will see to this,” said Nikolai as he bade farewell to the family.

“See to nothing,” replied Dolokhov in a weak voice. “You’ve done more than enough already, Kolya.”

*

Nikolai did not sleep well that night. When he did finally drop off, his dreams were full of Dolokhov dying of pneumonia in that freezing cold room, and so by morning he had hatched a plan.

His father was a good and generous man -- a gentleman in the truest sense of the word. He reacted exactly as Nikolai had expected on hearing of Dolokhov’s plight, not only replenishing his son’s purse, but also happy to open up his house and welcome the wounded soldier inside.

Natasha, of course, was not so pleasant. “Nicky, why are you always such a foolish boy?”

Nikolai frowned. “You have no right to call me that, sister. Dolokhov needs our help. Pierre may have chosen a wife badly and is unhappy because of it, but he is rich and well looked after. Show some compassion.”

“Never,” said Natasha. “Dolokhov is cruel. Think of what he did to that poor bear.”

“Forget about the damned bear,” replied Nikolai. Drunken pranks such as those were nothing compared to the horrors of battle. “You have no idea what it is like to be a soldier and neither does Pierre. Remember how happy your dear friend was to go along with Fedya’s larks and even have him as a house guest up until the rumours started.”

“Look how well that ended,” frowned Natasha.

“I _saw_ how it ended,” said Nikolai. “With Fedya almost dying from a gunshot. Father says he can stay here to convalesce and I’m going to fetch him now, whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t,” shouted Natasha to Nikolai’s departing back.

It was a relatively short journey to Dolokhov’s home and Nikolai was unimaginably excited as he knocked on the battered wooden door of the apartment.

Grudgingly, Lydia showed him inside where he found Dolokhov sitting at the table in the same place that he had left him the previous day, though now he was spooning down a bowl of thin gruel.

“Fedya, my father insists you come and stay with us until you are fully healed,” said Nikolai.

Dolokhov looked up from his breakfast. “Thank you, my young friend, but I cannot leave my family again.”

“Go,” insisted Lidiya. “At least then I’ll have only one patient to tend to and you’ll no longer be getting in the way and demolishing all our food.”

“She loves me really,” said Dolokhov with a smile.

“It’s true that I love my brother, but I do not appreciate his loutish behaviour or his appetite,” said Lidiya who was already busy packing Dolokhov’s belongings into a trunk. “Send your wages to us, Fyodor. Do not think of wasting them on whores or vodka.”

“Our sisters are much alike,” said Nikolai as he helped Dolokhov into the troika. “Both are very pretty, but are owners of a sharp tongue.” He thought back to several declarations of loathing for Dolokhov. “I’m afraid you may experience some of Natasha’s vitriol as soon as we arrive at the house.”

“Then it will feel like home,” said Dolokhov, leaning wearily against Nikolai who pulled the blanket over them both.

*

It was easy having Dolokhov as a guest. He fitted in perfectly with the Rostov family, the exception of course being Natasha who hounded him constantly and was forever watching the poor man.

“Anyone would think you were in love with him, sister,” teased Nikolai. “You never take your eyes off him.”

He received a solid thump on the arm for this. “He’s infatuated with Sonya,” said Natasha. “He’s trying to steal her away from you in front of your own stupid face.”

A cold chill passed through Nikolai, but it came from an unexpected direction. 

“He will not succeed,” continued Natasha. “Sonya is far too sensible and she loves only you.”

The weather inside Nikolai grew icier. He felt terrible for his cousin’s sake, but his feelings for her had only ever been those of a callow youth. Since then he had experienced so much more of life. “Dolokhov is a good fellow,” he said. “He likes everyone. He even likes you, though I have no idea why.”

“He does not,” said Natasha, her brows knitted into a frown as she stamped off up the stairs.

Dismissing her nonsense, Nikolai strode into the morning room to find Dolokhov standing beside Sonya who was practicing at the piano.

“Fedya, are you well enough to train me in rapier?” he asked. “I need to improve before I return from leave. The other new officers are so much better than I am.”

“I would be honoured, Kolya,” said Dolokhov. “There are few things in life I enjoy more. Go easy on me though. I’m not quite up to full fitness.”

“Count me in,” said Denisov. “I’ve gained at least a stone since being here, thanks to your mother’s hospitality. I need to work off some of this extra padding.” He patted his rounded belly.

“And we shall be glad to have you,” said Nikolai who, for some unknown reason, was rather irritated that he was not allowed this time alone with Dolokhov. 

Denisov’s idea of exercise turned out to be lying on the stable benches with a glass of wine as his sparring partner. Clearly lovesick over Natasha, who was far too young and boisterous for him, he was struggling to come to terms with his feelings.

“Women,” he sighed, hoping for some counselling on the matter.

Right now, however, Nikolai couldn’t care less about Denisov’s troubles of the heart. It was exhilarating to have a rapier in his hand. More so to watch Fedya dance around him with the neat steps of a sword master.

The first time Nikolai bested the seasoned soldier, he swelled with pride, but was immediately overwhelmed by concern. “Is this too much for you?” he asked.

“Not at all,” replied Dolokhov, adopting his stance, eyes shining with excitement as once more they clashed swords.

Again and again Nikolai was pushed to his limits, thrilled by this bout, sweat pouring off him despite the coldness of the weather as they fought each other with abandon. In one slick manoeuvre, Dolokhov’s sword stopped an inch above his opponent’s head which left Nikolai heaving for breath, frightened for his life, frightened also for his sanity.

“You must show me how you did that,” he gasped.

“Trade secret, my boy,” said Dolokhov with a glint in his eye and a smile on his lips.

“Whoa, chaps,” said Denisov, getting clumsily to his feet. “This is too fierce for me. I think I’ll leave you to it and return to the music in the morning room.”

To seek out Natasha more like, thought Nikolai. Life was cruel. Denisov was in love with his sister and Sonya was in love with him, yet neither of them were loved in return. And what of Fedya’s affections? “What do you think of my cousin?” he asked, nervous of the answer.

“She’s a lovely girl,” answered Dolokhov. “As is your sister of course.”

“I thought you despised all women, other than your own family?” said Nikolai.

Dolokhov paused for a moment watching as Nikolai washed the sweat from his hair. “Innocence and purity are rare,” he said, strangely guarded in his words.

Nikolai could feel nothing but those eyes on him. He was both hot and cold, feverish perhaps and coming down with something. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “I’ve never really thought about it.” He leaned on the wall next to Dolokhov. “You see and feel things very deeply, don’t you, Fedya?”

“Some things,” said Dolokhov and there was intensity about him that was disconcerting. “Some things.”

*

That evening, after yet another pleasant family meal, the mood in the Rostov household changed suddenly for the worse when Denisov suffered a crushing blow to the heart.

It was all Natasha’s fault. She’d accused Nikolai several times of being oblivious to others’ feelings and yet was guilty of precisely the same thing. Leading poor Denisov on, she offered to dance with him and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself, chattering and giggling as if she were equally as enamoured as he, so much so that Nikolai was starting to think Denisov’s attentions were not falling on such stony ground as he had once believed.

Once the Mazurka was over, the two dance partners sat next to each other on one of the settees talking quietly. Nikolai largely ignored them, his attention taken up by Dolokhov who was singing along to Sonya’s piano playing in a deep baritone, but it was clear something was wrong when Denisov stood abruptly. The soulful ballad reflected the change in atmosphere as the soldier, his face crumpled with embarrassment and pain, hurried out of the room.

“I’m so sorry,” sobbed Natasha. “I never dreamt that he thought of me in such a way.”

Did anyone have any idea of the emotional impact they made on others, wondered Nikolai, as the entire household turned in for the night, all of them weighed down by the events of the evening. 

This, however, proved not to be the only proposal of the week, the second causing far more turmoil in Nikolai’s small and comfortable world -- a stone landing in deep water, ripples spreading out from the epicenter and disturbing the calm.

“Dolokhov,” he called as the man stormed past him, that handsome face full of thunderous fury. “Fedya, wait. What has happened?”

“Did he tell you?” said Natasha, who had come running in from the morning room.

“No.” Nikolai shook his head, ignoring his instinct which was to race after Dolokhov. “He said nothing.”

“There was a scene,” said Natasha, unable to hide her excitement. “He proposed to Sonya who refused him, telling him she loved another. You of course.”

Nikolai felt more than a little uneasy at hearing this.

“Mother’s furious,” continued Natasha. “She told Sonya that Dolokhov was a good marriage prospect. How could she even say that? Dolokhov’s a beast and he’d treat her dreadfully.”

“Rubbish,” said Nikolai, springing to the defence of his friend, though at heart he was filled with relief that Sonya had turned him down. “You have no idea what kind of person Fedya is. He loves his family. He cares deeply about a lot of things.”

“I’m not interested in Dolokhov’s feelings,” said Natasha. “Are you not pleased that Sonya still loves you?”

“Of course,” said Nikolai dismissively. “But I should speak of it to her rather than to you.”

“Then I shall go and fetch her,” said Natasha.

Even after the excitement of an unwanted marriage proposal, Sonya seemed dull. Nikolai couldn’t imagine what he had once seen in such a lifeless girl. More to the point, he couldn’t think what Dolokhov could find appealing about her, after the kind of women he had bedded. Innocence and purity were fine up to a point, but didn’t every man require interesting conversation? How many hours of piano playing could one listen to without dying of boredom?

“You refused Dolokhov,” said Nikolai.

“Of course, because I love only you,” declared Sonya.

“And I you,” said Nikolai, not wishing to hurt her. “But I fall in love so easily, Sonya, and I am sure that I will do so again soon. I’m not ready for talk of engagement.”

“I don’t care,” said Sonya. “I’ll wait. I’d rather marry no one than be tied to Dolokhov. Natasha says he is a beast and I believe her.”

Filled with righteous indignation on behalf of his friend, Nikolai wheeled around and strode out of the room, heading for the stable block with a strong suspicion of how Fedya would choose to work off his frustrations.

There he was, jacket cast aside as he wielded his sword, that vicious blade slicing through the air.

“Shall we spar?” asked Nikolai.

“Not a good idea today,” growled Dolokhov. “I’d likely do you some damage.” He came to a rest, breathing heavily and leaning on the wall. “I assume you heard the news.”

“I did,” said Nikolai. “I’m sorry.”

“You will marry her, I suppose.”

“No and I have told her so.” Slowly, Nikolai approached his friend. “I cannot see her appeal, Fedya. Maybe I did once, but now-”

“Now what?” Dolokhov took a matching pace forward, throwing his sword into a pile of hay. “Tell me, Kolya.”

Nikolai shivered at the tickle of warm breath against his cheek. “I’m glad she refused you,” he said. “I hate the idea of you being fascinated by such a bland creature.”

“Purity and innocence.” Dolohov’s gloved hand wrapped around the back of Nikolai’s neck as he tipped his head to one side and examined Nikolai carefully. “Are admirable qualities.”

Nikolai discovered, to his horror, that he ached for the touch of that sensual mouth and when a kiss finally happened between them it set him alight with desire. Dolokhov’s tongue danced across the seam of his lips, licking softly at him, moustache brushing over his skin and driving him wild. Opening up to him, to the idea of this, Nikolai sucked furiously on that tongue, clasping Dolokhov’s wiry body to him and grazing him with his nails.

“Easy now, Kolenka,” soothed Dolokhov, pulling away a little. “I think we both know what we want. There’s no need to rush at it.”

But having access to Dolokhov had sparked something wild inside Nikolai and he was too hungry to hold back, lunging at the other man, delving into his mouth and raking him with his teeth as he kissed him with an unforeseen amount of passion.

“You really _are_ an excitable thing.” Stepping back again Dolokhov grinned at him, teeth bared and eyes as bright as ever. “No wonder Sonya bores you.” Discarding his gloves, he cupped a hand over the bulge in Nikolai’s breeches. “The question is how far do you want to go?”

Nikolai surged forward, grinding against that palm, keening as the movement caused a flare of desire in him so strong that his knees began to buckle.

Flipping them around, Dolokhov pushed Nikolai up against the stable wall. “That’s a boy,” he said, unbuttoning Nikolai’s breeches as he drew his teeth along the exposed column of neck. “You’re an eager little beauty.” His hand explored inside the flap of underwear, fingers clasping Nikolai’s cock. “All hot and hard for me.”

Breeches and underclothes around his boots, Nikolai was driven wild by the combination of silky smooth voice and searching hands. 

“Fedya,” he groaned as Dolokhov stroked him with a grip that was rough and calloused from hours spent practicing with the sword. “Oh dear God, Fedya.”

All too soon his muscles began to tremble and, thrusting his hips forward, he spilled into Dolokhov’s hand, his come spattering the wooden floorboards of the stable.

“On your knees for me.” Dolokhov’s voice was husky with need.

Nikolai complied, falling to the ground and opening his mouth to accept the solid length that brushed against his lips. 

“That’s it, Kolenka. Suck my cock.” Dolokhov smoothed his hands through Nikolai’s hair. “You’re a very pretty boy,” he murmured. “Take it in further. Just like that. Let me fuck that lovely mouth of yours.”

To be on his knees like this was degrading and yet it was the most thrilling thing Nikolai had ever experienced. He let himself be used, his throat ravaged, his hair pulled at the roots, but all of him happy, and as Dolokhov moaned low in his throat and came with an inexhaustible supply of seed, Nikolai drank him down and savoured every choking droplet.

The taste still heavy in his mouth, Nikolai rested his back against the stable wall and clasped hold of his knees. What they had done together could never be described as dull.

“Fedya?”

“Think of it as training, Kolenka,” said Dolokhov, sliding down the wall and sitting next to him. “There’s more to being a soldier than drinking and fighting.”

 

\---end


End file.
